


Rhapsody

by topazwinters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, High School AU, I have no idea what I'm doing I am so sorry, M/M, Music, it's just a bunch of fluff, orchestra AU, yeah that's basically it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 06:06:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2337908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/topazwinters/pseuds/topazwinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The minor fall, the major lift</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The baffled king composing hallelujah..."</i>
</p><p>In which Dean is in love with Cas and Cas is in love with Dean and they're both too stubborn and/or deluded to admit it. Also, classical music, long-winded staring contests, and Sammy and Gabriel being little shits. But then, what else is new?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rhapsody

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [elannfa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elannfa), who desperately wanted a Supernatural high school AU where two characters shared a music stand in orchestra. Despite the fact that I know absolutely nothing about an orchestra, I was basically like what the hell, I'll write it. Because that's what friends do, apparently.
> 
> Beta'd by [princessdean](http://archiveofourown.org/users/princessdean), who is ridiculously supportive, talented, and basically the best writer/friend ever to grace this fandom. Special thanks to [bookishbutterflies](<a) for putting up with all my annoying orchestra questions and for fangirling over this fic before she even knew what it was. These girls are amazing and totally deserve to be showered with hugs & blueberry pie.
> 
> I should also note that this is indeed the first Supernatural fic I've posted, so make of that what you will. Most likely a one-shot, though that might change. Rated T for language (because we all know good ol' Dean & Bobby, don't we?). Reviews, comments, words of advice all welcome. Enjoy, lovelies. xxx

It starts with a question, spoken in a rough voice by, of all people, a bassist (Castiel hates bassists, mostly because they’re usually jocks who are only enrolled in orchestra in order to pick on the truly musical kids and earn their performing arts credit): “Castiel? What the hell kind of a name is _Castiel?”_

And it’s the first day of seventh grade, and Castiel is tired of wandering the hallways holding his map upside down and poking his head into the wrong classrooms, and he is also tired of having to explain his name (“no, not Latin, it’s Enochian – the language of the angels.”) and enduring the eye rolls that come along with it.

So it really is not his fault that he turns around, gives the boy his best death glare, and snaps, “What do you want?”

The boy steps back, hands up, placating. “Whoa, dude,” he says. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. I’m your new stand partner.” He slides into the seat next to Castiel, one hand gripping the double bass, and smiles: a slow, easy grin that spreads like molasses across his features.

“The name’s Dean,” he says, sticking out his free hand. “Dean Winchester.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel, with his big black glasses, his skinny frame, and his perpetually mussed hair, is quickly labelled a nerd and ignored. This he does not mind – he is an observer, not a participant. He watches and learns, determines who is popular and who is an outcast, uncovers the ins and outs of these children that he has been thrust together with. The days pass, in and out, monotony unbroken. Castiel does his homework, stays in the background, and takes mental notes on the students in his school.

Every day, fourth period orchestra, Dean saunters into class with his green eyes and his molasses smile. He strolls around the room, unashamedly flirting with the girls, making small talk with the boys. Castiel watches until Dean turns to him, and then he focuses on tuning his instrument.

Dean walks towards him, grabs his double bass, draws his bow across the strings. The instrument is huge and unwieldy, but in Dean’s hands it looks natural.

Dean smiles and says hello, Midwestern drawl ever unchanging. Castiel does not reply.

 

* * *

 

As seventh grade morphs into eighth, though, Castiel begins to notice things: like how even though Dean is one of the most popular boys in school, he is also kind to small children and animals, even when his friends are looking. Castiel notices how Dean and his little brother – Sam or Sammy, Castiel isn’t sure which – exchange insults as naturally as polite conversation, but he also notices how Dean’s eyes soften when he looks at Sam (Sammy?), and he notices how the fifth graders who were pushing around Dean’s little brother that one day showed up to school the next with a black eye apiece. Castiel notices how those students with ragged clothing and no lunch money in their pockets who sit in the corner of the lunchroom trying not to look conspicuous are suddenly all eating lunch one day, and how Dean is mysteriously not hungry for the next week.

Castiel notices all of this, and he wonders.

Every day Dean meanders into orchestra and makes his daily rounds through the room, and Castiel watches. Then Dean walks over to Castiel, says hello, and smiles at him.

One day, Castiel smiles back.

 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t know much about Castiel Novak, just that he’s quiet and looks at people a lot more than he talks to them. The guy seems to hold some kind of grudge against Dean (though Dean has no idea what for – he can’t _still_ be pissed about the whole name thing, can he?). Still, Dean keeps trying to make conversation, win him over – and it’s not just because orchestra can get supremely awkward when your stand partner refuses to talk to you. There’s something about Castiel that intrigues Dean, makes him want to know more about the silent kid whose eyes follow Dean as he walks around the music room every day and who pretends not to be staring the second Dean turns to him.

Still, it isn’t easy to be met with dead silence whenever you try to be friendly. Dean starts getting frustrated, wondering if he’ll ever get through to Castiel. He wonders if Mr. Singer would let him switch stand partners, but somehow even thinking that feels like… a betrayal. Like he’s being disloyal or whatever.

Yeah, like Castiel would care if Dean walked away. Hell, he’d probably be happy about it.

Then one day, just when Dean is at his wit’s end, Castiel finally cracks the first semblance of a grin Dean’s ever seen on him.

It’s fucking _gorgeous,_ and god, he was not expecting that.

He tries not to stare as Castiel turns away again. He isn’t entirely sure if he succeeds.

 

* * *

 

Ninth grade rolls around and the students Castiel has been watching all this time begin changing from children to adults. Castiel becomes even taller and lankier, Dean’s voice deepens, and Sam (Sammy?)’s hair keeps growing; Castiel wonders, watching Dean ruffle it in the parking lot, whether the boy ever gets haircuts.

He and Dean begin talking with each other in orchestra. He is astonished at how musical Dean is – far from the slacker he was expecting, Dean seems to throw himself into his instrument, playing with a precision and clarity the likes of which Castiel has rarely seen.

They speak on mundane matters: Dean’s brother (Sam, Castiel learns; Sammy is only Dean’s nickname for him), Castiel’s brother (“his name is Gabriel. He enjoys aggravating me and eating too much candy. I fear he may acquire juvenile diabetes if this goes on”), homework, teachers, music. Lots of music. Castiel is astonished at how well-versed Dean is on the topic. He listens, fascinated, to Dean speaking about the stylistic disparities between Vivaldi and Bach and makes a mental note to listen to their pieces when he gets home.

“Hey, Castiel,” Dean says one day right as Castiel is about to leave the music room.

Castiel turns, waiting. Dean’s eyes shift to the left, right, fingernails digging into his palms. Castiel sees a slight red flush creeping up his cheeks and wonders what he has to be nervous about.

The words come out in a rush: “I was wondering – do you want to – I mean, are you free after school today? I thought maybe we could go to my house and work on theory homework or something. If that’s okay with you.”

Castiel hesitates only a fraction of a second before he nods.

 

* * *

 

Castiel begins coming over more often. Dean’s house is cosy and Castiel enjoys sprawling on the floor of his bedroom, working on homework. More often than not they abandon it in favour of _Doctor Sexy_ marathons (Castiel had not heard of it before, but Dean is an avid watcher) and heated debates over classical composers, but Castiel can’t bring himself to care. He is captivated by Dean’s smile.

He gets to know Dean’s family: Sam, who has long hair and an easy smile and who is doing advanced trigonometry in the sixth grade; Mary, his mother, who is blonde like Dean and enjoys blueberry pie and subtle sarcasm; John, his father, who speaks brusquely but gazes at Mary with such overwhelming love that it makes Castiel’s throat tight. They welcome Castiel into their home – into their family – as easily as Dean had welcomed him into his life.

One day Castiel’s neighbours move out. A week after the _For Rent_ sign has been erected in the yard, it is gone, and Castiel’s mother sends him next door with a freshly baked blueberry pie for the newcomers.

Mrs. Winchester answers the door. “Castiel!” she coos. “How wonderful to see you! Oh, thank you so much, the pie looks lovely – tell your mother I said so, all right? Dean’s home, do you want to go say hi to him? Up the stairs, second room on the left.”

Castiel walks up the stairs and finds Dean sitting on his bed amidst dozens of packing boxes. They talk, but all the while Castiel is wondering whether Dean purposely chose the room with the window facing his own. He hopes not.

 

* * *

 

Tenth grade. Castiel’s classmates are becoming crueller; rather than simply ignoring him as they have always done, he begins finding HOMO and PUSSY spray-painted on his locker. He does not mention it to Dean, whose locker is on the other side of the school – but one day Dean finds it himself.

That day Dean walks into the music room with his fists clenched; instead of making his daily rounds, he marches straight to where Castiel is sitting, rearranging his sheet music in his folder.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel begins, but Dean cuts him off.

“Cas,” he says, voice low underneath the cacophonous sound of instruments being tuned, and Castiel has to strain to hear him. “Have you seen your locker?”

“Yes,” Castiel says slowly, because he has: it’s FAGGOT today, red spray paint stark against the grey metal. He heard people sniggering in the hallway as he went there to get his violin, but when he turned around the laughter abruptly stopped. After school he’ll stop by the janitor’s closet and borrow some Windex to clean it off; hopefully it will stay that way for some time.

“Why?” Dean asks, sharp between clenched teeth.

“Why… have I seen my locker?” Castiel says, confused. “Dean, I’m not sure what you are trying to – ”

“God, no, that’s not what I…” Dean’s voice is rapidly growing louder, but he takes a deep, ragged breath, runs his hands through his hair, and begins again in a lower tone. “Why the hell would they write that?”

Castiel turns to look at Dean – really look at him, tense and obviously upset. “I…” he says slowly, searching for an answer that will placate Dean. “You _are_ aware that I am homosexual, are you not?”

Evidently this is not the correct answer, as Dean’s eyes widen and he practically gapes at Castiel. _“What?”_ he hisses, real shock evident in his voice, and Castiel is taken aback.

“Yes, Dean,” he says after a moment, since he can’t think of anything else to reply with.

Dean slides into the chair next to Castiel, boneless. “Jesus,” he says. “Cas, you should have – why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

“I didn’t believe my sexual orientation was any secret,” Castiel says, because it’s true. “After all, most of the school knows,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

 _“Fuck,”_ Dean says, fury in his voice, and for a moment Castiel thinks it’s at him – and he believes he knows Dean well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t be angry at Castiel for something like this, but perhaps he’s wrong, and the thought sends a sickening feeling surging through his stomach.

Before he can say anything, though, Dean turns to him, eyes intense. “Cas, nobody’s ever – I mean, you’re okay, right? Nobody’s ever… messed with you or anything?”

“Dean, I am fine,” Castiel says, placing what he hopes is a reassuring hand on his friend’s knee because a worried Dean is perhaps even worse than an angry Dean.

“Okay,” Dean says, taking a deep breath and nodding slowly. “Okay. That’s… good. Just tell me if… if anything happens, all right?”

He stands up, obvious relief shining on his face, and walks over to where his double bass is leaning against the wall. Castiel pretends not to hear his muttered “I’m going to _kill_ those assholes” as he walks back.

A week later, four of the burliest boys on the football team don’t show up to school for two days. When they come back, nothing seems physically wrong with them – but when Castiel meets them in the hallway, they veer to the right and avoid his eye until he’s past.

The whispering and sniggering don’t stop, but the spray paint does. Castiel is inordinately grateful. Dean doesn’t say a word about the situation again.

 

* * *

 

It’s 7:00 on a Thursday by the time Dean gets home after SAT prep, and he’s exhausted and drained and really just wants to go to bed. Unfortunately, he also has a quiz in European History tomorrow that he hasn’t studied for at all, so it’s with a long-suffering sigh that he settles down at his desk with his textbook and notes and begins poring over them.

It only take a couple of minutes, though, for his mind to start to wander. He looks up and sees with delight that Cas is home, curtains open, sitting on his bed squinting with great concentration at some long-ass book that’s probably heavier than Cas himself, the nerd.

Dean doesn’t even realise he’s grinning with a familiar fondness and staring absently out the window, quiz forgotten. That is, he doesn’t realise it until Sam tiptoes into his room, scares him shitless by yelling BOO in his ear and then collapsing into a fit of giggles (what a girl), and finally announcing that Mom made dinner and Dad wants to review SAT vocab with him.

Dean sighs, but with another furtive glance out the window, he abandons his history notes and goes.

 

* * *

 

Dean’s not entirely sure when Castiel became Cas became _his._

Frankly, the dude’s pretty damn weird – not really the kind of guy Dean usually hangs out with, but he can’t deny that there’s something about Cas that has drawn them together and stuck, and he also can’t deny that he wouldn’t have it any other way. The thing is, Cas is his own planet: nerdy and obstinate and set in his ways, but he’s also loyal and smart and if you can get him to smile (which, granted, not many people can), it’s nothing short of blinding.

It’s been four years, though, since they met in orchestra and two years since Dean’s family moved next door to Cas’, and in that time they’ve grown closer than Dean ever would have imagined – from stand partners to acquaintances to cautious friends to the point where Cas is the one Dean trusts to drag him home from parties drunk, possibly concussed, and mumbling declarations of undying adoration to random girls (“Lizzy? I don’t even know a Lizzy…”).

And through it all, there’s orchestra. Dean would never admit it, but even now, four years later, it’s the one point in the day that he truly looks forward to. It’s awkward, of course, sharing a music stand with a violinist – their sheet music’s always overlapping, and Castiel sits while Dean stands so they’re constantly having to tilt the stand every which way – but the music department’s barely hanging on by its fingernails against the onslaught of budget cuts and Dean’s not so much of an asshole as to complain about something as silly as a shortage of music stands.

Besides, if it weren’t for the lack of music stands, he wouldn’t have met Cas, and that’s not a possibility he’s willing to envision.

 

* * *

 

Castiel is sitting in his room, fiddling with his notes for AP Mechanical Engineering – he’s beginning to regret the decision to let Sam sign him up for his courses this year, but he and Dean were watching _Doctor Sexy_ when he agreed to it, and he was distracted by Dean’s obvious fascination with the doctor’s dimples (really, it’s a wonder Dean hasn’t started drooling over the man – his attraction towards such a fictional character is baffling, though every time Castiel asks about it he receives a gruff “don’t know what you’re talking about, Cas” and the silent treatment for the rest of the day, so he’s learned not to mention it).

He’s about to give up and go next door to ask Sam for help – never mind that he’ll be asking a eighth grader for advice on an eleventh grade honours course; he’ll do what he has to do to avoid failing – when the music begins floating through his open windows.

Castiel listens for a moment, allowing the notes to wash over him. Dean is one of the most talented musicians Castiel has ever heard play, although whenever he mentions it Dean blushes and mumbles at him to shut up. The way Dean immerses himself in the music, as if there is nothing else in the world but him and his instrument, is one of the most beautiful things Castiel has ever experienced.

This, he has not deemed fit to tell Dean. However close they are, there are some things he doesn’t think Dean would understand.

Nevertheless, he scrambles over to his own instrument, gratefully abandoning the engineering homework in favour of his bow and rosin. He recognises the piece Dean is playing – it is one from Boccherini’s _Symphony in C Major._ It’s a lively, spirited dance, one of his favourites; he so loves to hear his own violin singing high into the air as Dean’s bass swoops below.

He walks to the window where Dean is standing on the other side, eyes closed, a slight smile dancing across his lips.

Castiel raises his violin to his chin and joins in.

 

* * *

 

If you ask Dean – which you won’t, because he’s one hell of an actor when he wants to be – he is many things, but in love with Castiel isn’t one of them.

Because those ridiculous staring contests they always seem to be having don’t _mean_ anything. He knows that, obviously. It’s not like he’s constantly drowning in Castiel’s eyes or like Cas’ smile leaves him dazed or like seeing Cas is, without fail, the best part of his day. It’s not like when he counts his blessings, the first thing he thinks of is that it’s _him_ who has the power to make Cas laugh, that it’s him over everybody else that Castiel has chosen to befriend and trust. It’s not like that makes his chest feel tight because he doesn’t know how he got so lucky as to be best friends with an introverted, antisocial sweetheart who never understands any of his references and whose confused face is adorable as fuck.

Of course it’s not like that. Not at all.

 

* * *

 

They’re sitting in class listening to Singer rage at the cellists for their alarming lack of finesse with keeping the beat steady (“this is your third year of high school orchestra, you idjits! Is it really a goddamn chore to count to three and start again?”) when Cas passes Dean a note.

This is their primary method of communication in orchestra – it’s easy and familiar, especially since at least 75% of the time Singer’s yelling at one group of musicians or another. Dean never tells anybody that he keeps all of Cas’ notes, even the boring ones, tucked into the bottom of his sock drawer.

Dean unfolds this one, and there, written in Cas’ neat, precise handwriting: _I enjoyed the song you played last night._

Dean hates it when Cas does this – praises him for his music, stares at him like Dean’s the most talented guy Cas has ever seen, like he’s some kind of prodigy or something. It’s not true, and the way Cas looks at him makes Dean feel like – like he’s _special._ Like he’s the only one in the world.

And it’s great while it lasts, but after Cas turns away it just hits Dean harder than ever that he’s _not_ special, and that Cas doesn’t think about him that way. Cas would look at anybody like that. It’s just the kind of guy he is, and that’s one of the things Dean simultaneously hates and lo – _really likes_ about him.

Now, Dean barely stifles a groan of frustration, because he knows that no matter how many times he tells Cas to stop, the dude’ll never listen. Instead he fishes a pencil out of his bag and scrawls back as casually as possible: _you think people are getting sick of our window duets yet?_

He’s rewarded with a flash of a smile from Cas. Dean tries very hard not to stare creepily at him, but it doesn’t really work. They end up not looking away from each other until Singer turns and snaps, “You two idjits care to join the rest of us or do we have to wait until you’re done having eye sex?”

Dean abruptly turns away, grabbing his bass once more, positioning his bow, and attempting to ignore the titters from the class.

He steals a glance at Castiel as Singer raises his baton. Cas has his eyes fixed on the conductor, seemingly unfazed.

Dean looks away with a sigh a split second before Castiel’s gaze flits over to him and back again.

 

* * *

 

Castiel is not quite sure when he realised that he was in love with Dean Winchester.

He supposes it happened during one of those undefined moments in their friendship when Dean said or did something out of the ordinary, something that jolted Castiel. It’s happened too many times to count – Dean does not fit the norm, is nothing like what Castiel had first expected. He is a talented musician, but one who doesn’t realise how talented he truly is. People enjoy talking to him because he is charismatic and interesting and knows how to charm anyone with his molasses smile.

But Castiel counts himself lucky to be one of the few people – one of the only people, he believes, besides Sam and perhaps Mary – who can see behind the smile. He thinks perhaps that this is what he truly fell in love with: Dean’s vulnerability. The person he is when he’s not cracking jokes or flashing what Sam refers to as his “shit-eating grin”.

And yes, Dean is attractive. Castiel is not blind to that, nor is he stupid – he can see the impossibly green eyes and the tanned skin and the lean muscle (Dean runs when he wants to be alone).

The underlying issue, though, is that Dean is heterosexual and Castiel is not.

Castiel knows that it’s cliché, the homosexual high schooler pining after the popular boy who will never love him back. But Castiel has long since made peace with the fact that Dean does not see him in the way Castiel wishes he would.

Besides, no matter what anyone says, being friends with Dean is a reward in itself – and no one will ever convince Castiel otherwise. Dean’s friendship is not a consolation prize.

 

* * *

 

Oddly enough, Sam’s friendship has come as a side effect. Castiel is not sure whether to be surprised or pleased – perhaps both. Although Sam is only in the eighth grade, he displays wisdom far beyond his years, and Castiel enjoys talking with him, learning more about him. He is not the musician that Dean is, and although he is talented in the mathematics and science related fields, this is not his passion either. Rather, Sam is a speaker. He wants to go to Stanford to study law, he tells Castiel one day, and Castiel can do nothing but smile and barely restrain himself from telling Sam that if he is anything like his brother, he will do whatever he sets his mind on doing.

(He restrains himself because if Sam is anything like his brother, he won’t want to hear Castiel’s praise.)

When Sam meets Gabriel, Castiel knows that they will soon become good friends. Despite the fact that Gabriel is a year older than Castiel and five years older than Sam, he takes an immediate liking to Dean’s brother. (Castiel wonders if this is because they share the same pastime - irritating their siblings, that is.) Gabriel calls Sam “little bro” and offers him a handful of M&Ms, and soon they are wandering around the Novaks’ house happily arguing over the scientific proof of the existence of God.

Dean and Castiel watch them go, and then Castiel barely has time to grab his violin before Dean is dragging him over to the Winchesters’ house and up the stairs to Dean’s room.

“Dean, what are you –”

Dean’s eyes are alight with excitement as he goes to his desk and brandishes a stack of papers. “Found a song you might like.”

Castiel walks over and looks at it. Written across the top is one word: _Hallelujah._

Without a word, Castiel opens his violin case and positions his bow. He’s learned to trust Dean’s judgement; although their music taste differs greatly in some areas, in others it has become astonishingly similar. In any case, Dean is rarely incorrect when he says that Castiel will enjoy a song.

Dean arranges the papers on his music stand, one side for the double bass and one for the violin. They stand close together so that they can read the music, and Castiel tries not to enjoy Dean’s warm scent too much.

 _“One,_ two, three, _four,_ five, six,” Dean says under his breath, and they begin playing.

Castiel knows right away that Dean is right: he does appreciate the song, the chorus simple and poignant in the bass clef while the violin sings out the melody high above. Dean has obviously played it before – although they go slow so that Castiel does not make any mistakes in the notes, Dean plays with familiarity and an understanding of the emotion behind the music.

And then Dean begins singing: quietly at first, but then louder and louder until his deep voice is swelling around the room along with the instruments.

 _“Maybe there’s a god above_  
_But all I’ve ever learned from love_  
_Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you_  
_It’s not a cry you can hear at night_  
_It’s not somebody who’s seen the light  
_ _It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah…”_

The ending comes too soon. Castiel draws his bow over the final notes and lets them linger in the dying sunlight filtering through the window.

Then he looks over at Dean, who is staring at him and breathing faster than usual – whether that’s because of the singing or something else, Castiel is not sure.

“You sing beautifully,” Castiel says quietly, before he can stop himself.

Sure enough, Dean glances at the ground, clears his throat, and says after a moment, “Shut up, Cas.” He snatches the sheet music for the violin off of the stand and brandishes it at Castiel, all the delicacy of just moments ago gone. “Here,” he says. “Take it.”

The moment is broken already, so Castiel does. He hopes Dean doesn’t notice the disappointment that flashes across his face.

That night as he goes to bed, he hears a lone melody from the next house over. Castiel walks to the window, squinting without his glasses, and there is Dean, the light in his room the only one in the house still on.

Dean plays only a string of notes, soft in the darkness, before there is silence and the light is switched off.

And Castiel goes to bed with the melody of the song playing on repeat in his head.

 

* * *

 

“Listen up, everybody,” Singer says in orchestra a few days later.

The class quiets and Dean sits up and listens, because if Singer actually talks to them without cursing or calling them idjits, it’s a pretty damn certain indicator that something big’s going on.

Sure enough, Singer clears his throat a couple of times before announcing, “Alright, I’m sure all of you know that our winter concert’s coming up.”

Collective groans all around. Dean sympathises – although he loves orchestra, Singer’s almost obsessive-compulsive about the concerts, keeping them after school five days a week, pulling them out of classes so that they have to catch up on missed material, forcing them to practise even the most mundane things over and over and over again until they’re nothing short of cutting-edge (theirs is the only high school orchestra Dean’s heard of that can follow the conductor’s commands for “stand up” and “sit down” _quite_ as well as they can).

“Shut up, idjits,” Singer growls at them, and _there’s_ the teacher Dean knows so well. The guy glares at his students and then snaps, “It’s in two months. Half of the songs on our setlist we’ve already memorised, but you’ll need to learn the other half on your own. And don’t forget, somebody in here has to do a solo piece. See me tomorrow after school to sign up for auditions.”

There’s silence in the room, and Dean knows that everyone is frantically trying to think of pieces to play for their audition. The solo spot is a coveted one in the orchestra – Singer holds private auditions for it and only the best musician ever gets it. It’s kept a secret until the night of the concert – nobody knows who it is until they start playing a song of their own choosing, the only one Singer doesn’t pick out. They’re the grand finale, the last song of the night, the taste that’s left in the audience’s mouth.

Dean automatically glances over at Castiel, who’s staring pointedly at him. Cas passes him a note, on which is written five simple words: _You would get the spot._

Cas has wanted Dean to audition for the solo since they became friends. Dean always refuses. He doesn’t want the attention that comes with it, and besides, he wouldn’t make it anyway. What’s the point of trying if he knows he’s going to fail?

He shakes his head, vehement, and tries not to feel guilty at the flicker of disappointment in Cas’ eyes as he looks away.

 

* * *

 

The rehearsals for the concert begin taking up most of Castiel’s time in the coming weeks. Every day after school he goes to his locker, picks up his violin, and heads over to the music room with a long-suffering sigh at what awaits him: an afternoon of Mr. Singer yelling at them and then an evening of trying frantically to finish all his homework and collapsing into bed, exhausted, until his alarm blares him into consciousness.

The only thing that redeems it is the reassuring presence of Dean. Somehow, hearing Dean play anchors Castiel more than ever, because even through the strain of trying to balance everything, Castiel can tell that Dean truly loves every moment of it. They memorise their pieces together, playing from the windows, ignoring the fact that the songs are unfinished without the other instruments. Soon enough they can play without their sheet music.

Castiel is dismayed that Dean refused yet again to audition for the solo part; he knows that had Dean tried, he could have blown the audience away with his skill. But Dean seems content to stay within the larger group, though his bass clearly stands out above the others. Its tone is just the slightest bit richer, notes just the slightest bit more rounded - and Castiel doesn’t think anyone else notices, but he does, and that is enough.

Sometimes Castiel plays _Hallelujah_ alone, and before long he’s memorised it. He can’t shake off the feeling of unfinished work, though, the nagging twinge that comes from not playing with a double bass.

(Or perhaps not a double bass. Perhaps Castiel just wants to play it with _Dean.)_

And sometimes Dean plays the song too, but always late in the night when Castiel is on the brink of sleep. In the morning, Castiel can never tell if it was a dream or whether it truly happened. He does not ask Dean about it.

 

* * *

 

Sam corners Castiel in the parking lot.

To his credit, Castiel is stressed and therefore distracted: he has two huge tests tomorrow that he hasn’t studied for at _all_ since he’s been too busy with rehearsals for the upcoming concert, and he’s mostly planning on locking himself in his room and studying until 3 AM so that he can pull at least a B.

But Sam, of course, knows none of this. “Cas!” he yells, just as Castiel is making his escape through the back gate, and Castiel pauses, wondering whether he can use the excuse that he didn’t hear and have Sam text him instead. It’s not as if he doesn’t _want_ to speak to Sam, of course – but Sam is one of those people who enjoys talking through their feelings in long-winded, heartfelt discussions, and Castiel does not have time for heartfelt at the moment. _He needs to study._

Still, they’re the only ones in the parking lot and Sam’s voice is loud, so Castiel turns with a sigh, wondering if perhaps Sam just wants to ask him a question about homework (never mind, of course, that Sam is three grades below him – Castiel refuses to let go of hope).

Sam catches up with him quickly, long legs covering the distance in a few short strides. “Hey, man,” he says with a grin.

“Yes, Sam,” Castiel answers, but he’s suddenly on the defensive because that smile Sam is giving him isn’t his normal, puppy dog smile – it’s his devious, _I-want-something-from-you-and-so-help-me-I’m-going-to-get-it_ smile.

“Had a question,” Sam says, innocently enough. “It’s about Dean.”

“Yes,” Castiel says.

“So. You and him.”

“Yes.”

Sam waits, expectant. Castiel cocks his head slightly to the side, unsure what Sam is looking for.

“You guys… seem to be spending a lot of time together,” Sam prompts.

“Yes,” Castiel says, feeling slightly redundant.

“And he’s not with anybody right now.”

“No,” Castiel replies, still not sure where the conversation is going.

Sam seems to brace himself before blurting out, “So, uh… you two got anything going on, then?”

Castiel is speechless for a moment. “I’m sorry?” he says at last.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Look, this is probably something Dean would say, but you’ve been dancing around each other for way too long.”

“I’m not sure what you are –”

“Cas, do you want to have sex with my brother or not?”

Castiel gapes at Sam. He’s unable to get out another word for a few seconds, and then finally strings together: “Did Dean tell you to ask me that question?”

Sam laughs. “You know Dean thinks I still believe in the pelican, right?”

“Actually, I’m quite sure it is a stork,” Castiel corrects, mind still caught on Sam’s previous words.

“Right. Stork.” He pauses, waiting, and when Castiel doesn’t say anything else he continues, “So do you, or not?”

Castiel doesn’t need to ask what Sam is referring to. “I… had not considered it,” he says truthfully. “Besides, you know I am not Dean’s… type.”

Sam grins. “Not his _type?_ Cas, have you seen the way the guy looks at you?”

“Dean is heterosexual,” Castiel points out.

“Have you seen the way he looks at Doctor Sexy?”

Castiel has no answer to that.

“Look,” Sam says at last. “I’m not trying to force you into anything you don’t want to do. All I’m saying is, Dean’s been head over heels for you since, like, four years ago. He’ll probably try and pull one of his stupid pick-up lines on you and totally embarrass himself one of these days if you don’t make a move, so you might as well figure yourself out before that inevitably happens.”

And before Castiel can say anything, Sam is loping off across the parking lot. He turns back, sees Castiel standing there, and yells “Think about it!” before disappearing around the corner.

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Singer?”

“Winchester, if this isn’t damn important, then I ain’t talking to you. Rehearsal’s on in fifteen minutes. You should be tuning your instrument.”

“No, it’s important, I promise. I was – I mean, I know I’m asking pretty late, but I –”

“Spit it out, idjit.”

“I was just wondering, are auditions for the solo spot still open?”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god, just sleep with him already, would you?”

Castiel looks up from where he’s been staring out the window at where Dean is sprawled on his bed reading a book on Debussy. Gabriel’s silhouette is framed in the doorway to his room, face clearly exasperated.

Castiel sighs, wondering how it’s possible that two people in the span of _three days_ are insisting that he consort with Dean. It can’t be normal, can it?

“I have no desire to do that, Gabriel,” he says.

“Come _on,_ Cassie,” Gabriel groans, leaning against the doorframe and pulling a Kit Kat bar out of his pocket. “You’ve been _nauseatingly_ in love with the guy for who even knows how long! Why are we still avoiding this topic?”

“Dean is heterosexual,” Castiel reminds him. “And please refrain from using that nickname.”

Gabriel stares at him before unwrapping his Kit Kat with a snort. “Yeah, and I’m an angel,” he says. “Seriously, Cassie, who’ve you been talking to? This has gone on for _way_ too long. Just march up to him and kiss him right on those stupid lips of his, and then everything’ll be okay.” He takes a vicious bite out of his chocolate bar, glaring at it ferociously as if it is the cause of Castiel’s apparent idiocy.

“I am not going to kiss Dean,” Castiel informs his brother. “He would not enjoy that in the slightest.”

Gabriel laughs at that, spewing bits of Kit Kat all over Castiel’s physics textbook. Before Castiel can reprimand him, he says, “Kid, I knew you were stupid, but not _this_ stupid. The dude stares at you like you’re the centre of the goddamn universe, you know that, right?”

Castiel brushes chocolate off of his book and glares at Gabriel. “Please go away. I am trying to study, and you are not helping.”

“The only thing you’re studying is Dean Winchester’s ass,” Gabriel points out, and Castiel does _not_ blush as his brother waltzes out of the room.

 

* * *

 

It’s the night before the concert and everybody’s wrecked. Singer’s been hounding at them for the past three hours, Dean is frazzled and keeps missing notes he’d been playing perfectly yesterday when it was just him and Castiel at the windows, and he’s pretty sure they’re seriously going to fuck everything up tomorrow and the audience is going to hate it.

Finally, after one last run through of the pieces, Singer looks around at his students’ exhausted faces and curses under his breath. He throws down his baton and yells, “Alright, idjits, we’re done here. I expect you in the music room by 5 PM tomorrow. There are 500 people who’ve ordered tickets, so none of you are late, got it? Girls, black dresses and stockings. Boys, tuxedos. Get eight hours of sleep tonight, eat a decent breakfast tomorrow, and for fuck’s sake, _tune your instruments_ or I will personally see to it that you are flunked out of this school and end up working in McDonald’s for the rest of your goddamn lives.”

With that, Singer turns and stomps down the stage, leaving them to wearily pack away their respective instruments.

That night, Dean doesn’t sleep at all.

 

* * *

 

At 5 PM sharp the next day, Dean stops at the door to the music room and blinks.

He makes an effort to force his legs to move – he does, seriously – but for some reason all he can think is _fuck,_ the concert is nothing compared to the sight waiting for him in his familiar corner of the room.

Because there’s Castiel, and he’s… _disgustingly_ gorgeous in a tux, fidgeting and adjusting his bowtie uncomfortably like he can’t breathe, looking around the room at all the other musicians who are talking under their breaths and waiting for the concert to start. The black suit brings out the darker tones in Cas’ eyes (and goddamn it, Dean never thought he’d even be _thinking_ anything like that – what the hell is this guy doing to him?), wide with apprehension and excitement. He hasn’t noticed Dean yet, and Dean’s content to lean against the doorframe drinking in the sight of –

“Move it, Winchester,” Singer grunts, shoving Dean out of the way none too gently and jolting him out of his thoughts. “You tuned your bass yet, or you just been standin’ here staring into space?”

When Dean doesn’t answer, Singer rolls his eyes. “Get to it,” he snaps, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “fuckin’ idjits”, and Dean hurries to obey, casting one last furtive glance at Castiel before he walks into the room.

 

* * *

 

And then the concert begins.

Castiel’s tuxedo is itchy and just the slightest bit too big for him - that’s what he gets for borrowing it from his brother, he supposes - but he does enjoy the way Dean looks. The tuxedo accents just the right parts of Dean’s body, and if this weren’t a formal event, Castiel would be happily “checking him out” (the words Gabriel used one time when he caught Castiel staring at Dean out the window).

They’ve been preparing for this concert for the past two months, though, and Castiel is too nervous to think about anything other than what lies ahead. He sits next to Dean and they listen as Mr. Singer talks to the audience about the songs they will play tonight. It feels odd to hear their conductor speak without swearing.

Castiel looks into the row of people, squinting against the bright lights reflecting against his glasses. He believes he can make out his family sitting next to the Winchesters, Sam and Gabriel whispering to each other as they munch on some unidentifiable candy. Castiel is vaguely aware that this is probably against the rules of their school theatre, but before he can process the thought, Mr. Singer is turning to the orchestra and raising his baton.

Somewhat surprisingly, the songs go without a hitch. Castiel relaxes into the music after the first, Mascagni’s _Intermezzo._ He’s been practising this song so long that it is imprinted into his memory - not to mention, it’s certainly one of his favourites to play - and soon enough he is able to close his eyes and enjoy the flowing and swelling of the instruments around him. The presence of the double bass on his left is comforting; he can almost hear the cicadas chirping outside and smell the freshly cut grass, reminiscent of his and Dean’s many window duets.

The audience is receptive. There are no crying infants, although a cell phone does go off once and is quickly silenced. They clap at the right moments and quiet down slowly enough that it does not feel obligatory, but also fast enough that the performers do not begin to fidget. Even Mr. Singer begins to smile, gruff but genuine, as his baton dances to the music of the orchestra.

And then, a blur of music and applause later, the last violinist draws her bow across the strings, slow and sweet and tender, to the finale of Albinoni's _Adagio in G Minor_. The last full orchestral song is over, and Castiel feels almost drained. He is looking forward to relaxing and hearing the soloist, whoever they are, play their song. Castiel turns and gives Dean, who is standing beside him looking out at the audience, a small smile. Their job is over.

Then there is silence as the applause dies down. The audience looks up at the performers expectantly.

People begin to fidget and whisper, both onstage and off. Castiel looks down at Mr. Singer, who has taken his bows and gone to sit in the audience; he seems just as confused as the others.

Castiel begins to wonder, a sickening feeling crawling into his throat, if the soloist has backed out.

 

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t know what possessed him to sign up for this.

He tries to move, but it feels like his feet are glued to the ground. People around him are whispering to each other, wondering why the soloist isn’t there, and Dean, like the idiot he is, can’t find it in himself to fucking _move_ already, to get to the front and play his song.

He glances over at Castiel.

Cas looks like he’s just been punched in the stomach, staring around the stage with desperate eyes, practically _begging_ for the soloist to appear. And it’s then that Dean knows he has to do this – if for nothing else, then for Cas. Only for Cas.

Somehow, with Herculean strength, Dean manages to stand up. The eyes of the entire audience, plus the rest of the orchestra, swivel towards him. He forces himself not to bolt from the stage and instead carries his bass carefully to the front. He can hear Sammy’s voice in the audience, small and ecstatic, and that, too, keeps him going: “Gabe, it’s him! It’s _Dean!”_

After a million years, Dean reaches the front. He positions his bass, brings his bow to the strings, and pictures Cas’ face in the back row of the orchestra.

Dean takes a deep breath, and then he plays.

 

* * *

 

Castiel’s head is reeling as Dean begins to play.

His mind is a jumble of confusion and delight – on one hand, Dean is the soloist, finally, _finally;_ but on the other, how could Dean not have told him something so huge? Castiel is not sure whether to be hurt or overjoyed.

And then he recognises the tune Dean is playing, and his mind makes the decision for him.

Dean has found an arrangement that weaves his double bass into the cracks the violin left behind, but still the notes feel lonely as they ring in the huge auditorium. Hearing Dean play, Castiel is transported back to what feels like an eternity ago, to a rough, gravelly voice singing out the refrain of _hallelujah,_ to a tune he’s heard again and again in the dream-state between waking and sleeping, to a melody he’s played so many times on his violin without the bass to complete it.

And then Dean stops in the middle of a verse.

Before anyone can move, he turns to the orchestra behind him and his eyes lock on Castiel’s.

It does not feel like a conscious decision, but suddenly Castiel is out of his seat, violin in hand, and then he is propelling through the crowd and coming to stand next to Dean.

One, _two, three,_ four, _five, six,_ Dean mouths, naturally as anything, and they begin once more.

This time it feels so much more _right,_ the violin and bass intertwining with and complementing one another, just as Dean and Castiel have always done for each other. Castiel almost doesn’t notice when Dean’s voice joins in, but then – _oh,_ he notices.

 _“There was a time when you let me know_  
_What's really going on below_  
_But now you never show it to me, do you?_  
_And remember when I moved in you_  
_The holy dove was moving too  
_ _And every breath we drew was hallelujah…”_

Castiel isn’t sure, but he believes some of the audience members may be crying.

When the last verse comes, Castiel instinctively slows down and plays more quietly, and he hears Dean doing the same. There is dead silence in the room save for their instruments and Dean’s voice.

Dean turns and gazes at Castiel as he pauses and then sings, ever so quietly,

 _“I did my best, it wasn't much_  
_I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch_  
_I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_  
_And even though it all went wrong_  
_I'll stand before the lord of song  
_ _With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah –_

 _Hallelujah, hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, hallelujah_  
_Hallelujah, hallelujah  
_ _Hallelujah, hallelujah.”_

The last word, Dean draws out, and Castiel’s violin sings with him: pure, uninhibited. For one single moment, standing onstage in front of 500 people, they are connected.

There is a split second of golden silence as the singing and the violin quiet.

And then the applause is thunderous.

It is the first time Castiel has ever received a standing ovation, and he looks out into the audience to see even Mr. Singer on his feet, face ruddy, clapping and grinning wildly. Sam and Gabriel are cheering. Mary is wiping away tears.

Dean glances over at Castiel and smiles, wide and so happy, and Castiel cannot help but smile back.

 

* * *

 

An hour later they’re in the music room - alone, _finally._ Although Dean’s still riding on the glow of happiness from that performance, he has to admit that it’s been kind of dampened by his classmates’ congratulations (which sounds ungrateful, he knows, but it’s not exactly a pleasant thing to have your best friend who’s standing right there beside you be fucking _ignored)._ Plus, he’s pretty sure his mom and dad have left bruises from hugging him so tightly and Sam probably burst at _least_ one eardrum with all the squealing.

But at last, everyone’s trickled out after having put their instruments away, and now it’s just him and Castiel.

“We did pretty good back there, huh?” Dean says, grinning to himself as he carefully positions his double bass back in its case.

“Indeed we did,” Castiel murmurs. “Though I must say, Dean, that was quite unexpected.”

“Did you like it?” Dean asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager (because Jesus, it’s not like he’s a _puppy_ or something. That’s Sammy, not him).

Castiel turns to Dean and studies him. “Yes, Dean,” he says after a minute, quiet and certain. “I did immensely enjoy it.”

And Dean can feel the atmosphere getting heavier so he’s about to make some smartass comment and lighten it again – but somehow he can’t bring himself to. And it’s all hitting him now, because Cas is standing _right there,_ inches away from him, and what if he did it? Right now, without any preamble, just leaned in and – and _did it?_

“Dean?” Cas says.

 _You are hot and in control,_ Dean reminds himself, even though right now he doesn’t feel like either is true – but Dean’s wanted this for – god, he can’t even remember how long, but too long to leave it dangling like he always has in the past.

He leans forward, brings a hand up to Castiel’s face. Cas is breathing fast all of a sudden, eyes wide and so hopelessly blue, fixed on the hand on his cheek. “Dean?” he says again, voice soft and less certain than Dean’s ever heard him.

“Don’t freak out,” Dean instructs, and before he can talk himself out of it he leans down and then they’re kissing.

God, it’s – it’s better than Dean ever could have imagined. Cas is kissing him back, warm and wonderful and making these beautiful little breathy noises, and Dean feels like he’s on a sensory overload because all these years he’s thought about this and it’s nothing at all compared to the reality because – because Jesus Christ, he’s actually, finally _kissing Cas._

By the time they pull away, Dean’s pretty sure at least half his brain cells are fried. “Shit,” he whispers, raising a hand to touch his lips.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, sounding slightly dazed, and Dean can’t help but let out a breathless laugh.

It isn’t long before Cas is laughing along with him, hesitant at first and then louder, and then, of course, Dean has to kiss him again and they’re giggling against each other, and except for maybe Tchaikovsky’s _Symphony No. 6 in B minor_ , Dean didn’t think there was anything more beautiful in the world than Cas’ smile, but now he knows there is: it’s feeling that smile _against his lips._

 

* * *

 

Nothing much changes about their relationship.

Dean’s almost disappointed, to be honest – it feels sort of anticlimactic, to have wanted this for so long and then have it turn out to be so normal. In any case, it’s sure isn’t like any of the relationships he’s had with girls. Castiel is still the same asshole who always sides with Sam in arguments (Dean’s pretty sure there’s some sort of rule about how your boyfriend – and god, it feels weird to think of Cas like that – isn’t allowed to turn on you in these kinds of things, but Cas has never been one to follow the rules). They still have long-winded staring contests and play duets from the windows and discuss the merits of different musical periods (Dean swears by Baroque, but Cas refuses to let go of Romantic). Sam and Gabriel still tease them. Singer still yells at them in orchestra.

There _is_ a lot more making out going on, though, which Dean definitely isn’t complaining about.

 

* * *

 

One day, a few weeks later, Castiel is sitting with Sam and Dean in Dean’s room when suddenly a thought hits him. He steals a look at Dean, wondering whether it would be appropriate to ask.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean asks, noticing Castiel’s careful observation of him. “Got something on my face?” He swipes at his nose self-consciously.

“No, Dean,” Castiel replies. “But I do have a question for you.”

“Shoot,” Dean says.

“I must know – did you tell Sam to ask me whether I wanted to consort with you?”

Dean stares at him for a second. “Dude, first off: _nobody_ says ‘consort’ anymore. And secondly: I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I asked him if he wanted to have sex with you awhile back,” Sam announces, cheerful as ever. “He wasn’t that enthusiastic about it, to be honest.”

“In my defence,” Castiel adds, “It was highly unexpected.”

Dean looks like he’s just swallowed a goldfish. His mouth is opening and closing as if he can’t find the right words to respond; Sam seems to find this amusing, although Castiel is slightly concerned.

He’s about to say something when Dean finds his voice. “What the hell, Sammy?” he growls, turning on his younger brother.

“Hey, it worked out pretty well!” Sam protests. “I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but you guys don’t exactly seem to be pushing each other away!”

Castiel finds this somewhat unfair, considering he and Dean are at the present moment sitting pressed against each other, Castiel leaning the tiniest amount into Dean. They automatically glance at each other and Dean takes his hand off of Castiel’s leg. “I thought you still believed in the pelican!” he says to Sam, abject betrayal in his voice.

“Stork,” Castiel and Sam interject at the same time.

“That’s what I said,” Dean snaps, still looking shell-shocked. “Seriously, Sammy, you can’t just _do_ that!”

“Of course I can,” Sam drawls, lazy and happy.

“Screw you,” Dean mutters, but he puts his hand back on Castiel’s knee.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean fires back.

“Dean!” Mary’s voice floats up from downstairs.

“Sorry, Mom,” Dean calls over Sam’s laughter, and Castiel can’t help but crack a smile.

Dean kisses him then, soft and gentle, even when Sam yells, _“Gross!_ PDA, you guys!”

But Castiel just melts into Dean, content and indulgent and so happy with this fragile, tenuous, beautiful thing they’ve built up between them after all these years. 

**Author's Note:**

> [This is the orchestral version of "Hallelujah" that I listened to while writing this fic, if anybody's interested.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TpY-C0J9ExE)  
> [Here's one with vocals (recorded by the unfairly talented elannfa for my birthday - thankyouthankyouthankyou!).](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YpV_ayP1Tkg&feature=youtu.be)  
> [Boccherini's "Symphony in C major, Op. 21, No. 3, G. 495" (their first window duet).](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=66pjev7lqWs)  
> [Tchaikovsky's "Symphony No. 6 in B Minor" (Dean's favourite symphony).](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZmLx4w2VHo)  
> [Mascagni's "Intermezzo" (the first song they play at the concert).](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OvsVSWB4TI)  
> [And Albinoni's "Adagio in G Minor" (the last full orchestral song they play at the concert).](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XMbvcp480Y4)  
>     
> I believe those are the only pieces mentioned by name, but please do let me know if there are any more and I'd be happy to provide links!


End file.
